


Beyond the Blazes

by crayonmen



Series: Dayshift at Freddy's [1]
Category: Dayshift at Freddy's (Fangame)
Genre: i drag a good game ending on for even longer: the 30 (estimated) chapter book series, jack/old sport survives the DSaF 3 'The End' ending, jacks main goal is pretty much just finding harry-, ocs! - Freeform, p.s he lives because of blackjack, read for more ily-, this book will have ocs! there's no characters to add since all of them are dead so-
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonmen/pseuds/crayonmen
Summary: Old Sport finds himself alive, even after his SUPPOSED death.He is alone.Time to find another place to set on fire!
Relationships: None (For Now)
Series: Dayshift at Freddy's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911463
Comments: 46
Kudos: 44





	1. 5 more minutes, mom..

He's...alive.

Yes, Old Sport, miraculously, like the walking corpse he is--managed to survive. Y'know, despite the horrible, itching and blood-curdling pain he went through, he was still fine!

At some point, maybe around a month after the Fazbenders' incident, (today) the scorch marks began to fade, and his skin went back to that tangerine hue, as usual.

Although, with some time, he realized, at some point--he..might be just a tad immortal.

Whatwith not having a soul whatsoever, and instead just being a walking corpse, it was..not surprising. If he isn't completely wrong, it might be the fact he HAD no soul to release anymore, so he couldn't die without one.

YES, HE IS HAVING A GIGANTIC MENTAL BREAKDOWN. WHY DO YOU ASK?

He didn't think he'd be..alive. He saw Fredbear, blacked out in his assuming death, accepting all of his crimes, sins, and whatnot--and suddenly he woke up. Burnt to a crisp, infact, like a bad BBQ.

The worst part, though?

There's..no one.

He was all alone, now, considering their souls have been freed.

Dave. Dee. Peter. Steven..hell, even HIS soul was free, technically. He's basically just the placeholder for his soul, but he wants to believe he had a soul, atleast once.

Now that he's freed everyone, he's all alone in this cruel, harsh, pelican-scuttler crossbreeded world.

Although, not for a SECOND would he EVER take it back. They needed to be freed, afterall. All he wants is..the possibility to go with them. But, alas, it twasn't the case.

So..he's broke, announced dead to the world, (and can't die, while we're at that) annddd he can't find the tickets to Denver, Colorado he stored in his left shoe, considering the fact that his shoe got turned to cinders, although part of his clothes did not. Might just be the fact his shoes are made of wax, though.

Old Sport, or, Jack, is pretty much in the know of the fact he might be fucked.

His only REAL talent was dancing in a mouldy bearsuit for a buck or two. I mean..that's a talent, right? It should be considered one, if not. That damn suit was a pain, no matter the location!

So..aside from mouldy bearsuits..WAT DO?!?

Well..first off, it's not like he can just start a new Fazbenders' location. That'll get him sued! Since he has no money at all, they might just take his shins.

Reflecting also gives you alot of time to think about lawsuits, yes.

Second off, if he wanted to start a new franchise LIKE Fazbenders..he'll either have his ribs broken in by a Candy's spy, or he'll be too broke to even afford the moss on his walls. Those damn tapes Dave left should've included a "How To Make your very own Fazbenders' lookalike after the last building throughout the entirety of the world burns down in a glorious blaze!"

Okay, that would've been helpful, albeit oddly convenient for his current situation.

Third off..actually, scratch that. There IS no third off!

He'll say it again..he's broke, famously dead, ticketless, single, in your area and wants to f--

NOPE, NO, NAH.

Anywho, despite that, it's gonna be hard to find his place in the world, now.

There's no Fazbenders. There's no home. There's..nothing.

Nothing at all.

Wow, this got depressing!

Shaking out the leftover rubble that was STILL in the sleeve of his suit--he found himself tired of this routine, now. Thinking of the past wasn't going to get him ANYWHERE. Not even out of this sticky, cardboard box he found on the side of the road.

Even if he's immortal, now, rain was still a vast discomfort for him. Oh, and despite being immortal, he can still feel pain, shown by being burnt alive. So, getting shanked wasn't a good option either.

There was so much to think about, so far..

Especially the deal with airline foo-

S H U T .

With that, Old Sport set off to find, perhaps, another cardboard home to his liking.

Maybe he can find one with..less bodily fluids, and more Hamburger Helper scraps.


	2. Chapter 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport is just trying to survive, at this point.
> 
> He reminisces of home, a way of getting a sense of something familiar again.
> 
> Spotting a Candies', he wonders why there's no sign.
> 
> ..huh.

Old Sport, eventually, realized that he had no way to find Peter's old home.

While it would've been nice to have a roof over his head, he had no GPS, no people to give him directions, and definitely not a X-on-the-mark pirates map.

The reason being he wanted to go home was to atleast have a roof over his head, for once. Living in a cardboard box wasn't exactly a roof over his head, it was more of a damp, mouldy roof that sometimes caved in while he slept, shivering at the hint of winter in the air.

Alot of Fazbender's competitors were already stocking up for christmas, dumpster-diving and the like. Even in this freezing weather they sent out their, poor, poor employees..

Which, in reality, wasn't too far from Fazbender's standards.

How..sad?

The winter was nipping at his heels, and if he didn't find a shelter that would accept a half-dressed, orange zombie man with a mop for a makeshift sword soon--he was gonna get some pretty painful frostbite.

In reality, that's the exact opposite of what he wants at this rate. He may be immortal, but he's definitely not a lizard. Despite looking the part, he can't just go ahead and grow back his fingers. Old Sport clung his arms closer to his body, shivering in the night air. It might look semi-pretty around here, whatwith the lights and the smell of good food--but the cold wasn't going to let up until the night sky did.

He might have to rid himself of a few toes, tonight.

It's either that, or the manager of Candies' will hit him with the broom again for sleeping in the dumpster.

..actually, wait. That sounds more pleasant..he'll just get hit with a broom, instead. He still needs these toes once he makes his OnlyFans, afterall!

Wait..nevermind, scratch that, he doesn't have a cellphone.

DAMN IT.

HOW COME HE CAN'T SELL HIS BODY JUST BECAUSE HE'S A ORANGE ZOMBIE WITH A MOP AND NO SHOES?!

DISCRIMINATION!

With that, he settled with sitting up and looking for another Candies'. Self-respect and pride put aside, he eventually found one and climbed in.

This location was one he hadn't recognized, although, even through the weeks of marching through the city. Gazing upon the sign. The sign didn't say anything like 'Candies', and had no mascot. While it had the layout of Candies, it almost had no relevance to it, beyond that.

They must be really, really broke. Means he won't find much food in the dumpster for tonight's dinner, then..disappointing.

Shifting around on the garbage like a dirty, orange cat--he tried to ignore the pungent smell of rotting, human flesh. No pizza, no fries..nothing besides meat. Guess they harvested their pizza when they could, eh? They really ARE broke..who the hell runs this place? Can't they just get some funds from the company?

Grumbling angrily under his breath like a dissatisfied parent entering Freddies, he fell asleep to the sound of himself mumbling the tune of sandman under his breath.

Tomorrow is another day.


	3. Home is where the Mouldy Pizza is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport finds some food, and has some time to think.
> 
> Life isn't easy, being homeless.
> 
> He thinks of Vegas.

Old sport, surprisingly enough, was NOT hit with a broom violently once he woke up.

He looked around, but there was nary a Candie's employee in sight ready to beat him. It's certainly a nice change, yes--but why? Usually they spot him in the dumpster around opening time, charging to stick him with the broom like a lion tamer does with a lion's whip.

..odd.

Besides that, Old Sport hopped out of the dumpster, garbage juice and other filth embraced at this point, now.

Ah, the beginnings of a new day!

If it weren't for the fact he's covered in the F O U L E S T of juices, he'd say he's having a pretty good day by now! He woke up, wasn't hit with a broom, and the bite mark on his ankle from the homeless man behind the kabob shop is healing! It's going pretty swell, if he says so himself.

He does say so himself, actually. There's no one else here with him, after all.

Afterwards of rolling out of the dumpster, he went to go scavenge for any type of food, really. It didn't matter ENTIRELY what it was--he just hopes it's edible. Searching for real food was a big deal without money, considering most other homeless people would always find it before him. Maybe it's their two rows of teeth..or it could be advanced sight and smell. He doesn't actually know anything much about homeless people, honestly, despite being homeless himself.

Grabby hands fishing through handfuls of nearby trash cans, he found a rare sight--food! He quickly stuffed it into his mouth, right before the corner of his lips formed a small grimace. God, he could use a kabob right about now, and not just one out of the trash. This tastes like scuttler meat!

People stared as he rooted through the trash, glancing every now and then, covering their children's eyes in horror whilst he did his daily hunt. What are they gonna do, huh? H U H ? !

NOTHING. THEY CAN'T DO A N Y T H I N G .

HIISSSSS--

He'd actually done pretty well so far! Maybe it's the fact this part of town is a little more..rich? The homeless tend not to come around here very often, Old Sport figures it's because of all the bright, flashy lights. Might scare them, y'know?

A lob of steak wedged between his teeth, breathing through the gap in his front--he stuck his head out of the trash and realized how much of a cryptid he probably looked like right now. Old Sport made his exit from the pickins', choosing to take what he had and book it back home before any of the P E L I S C U T T L E R S come out.

With what he's found today, he's starting to feel just a little bit better about his current situation.

...

..he hopes that, wherever Dave is, it has a nice replica of Las Vegas.

Dave could bring Steven, show him how those foxes could dance.

Maybe Dee, or, hell, even Peter if Dave gets over when he fired his precious 'orange baby' as he'd called him that day. He could even bring Blackjack!

..yeah, this is making him sad, now.

He found himself back at the Candies' dumpster within maybe a few minutes..y'know, for living in a rich neighborhood, you think the location would be of better quality..

..but, hey, he's not complaining about a free home.

Cuddling up in the dust-covered garbage bags that stunk of something akin to the underneck of a fat dog, he pretended as if he were home again, at Peter's, sitting there and..well, waiting for tomorrow. Waiting for the next day he has to go talk with Harry about sales and whatnot, what works with the kids and what doesn't.

It really wasn't too long ago..

1 month..and a half.

Does it matter anymore?

..probably not.

Starting a small fire from a chunk of wood (assumingly from the tables) he clicked up a lighter he'd found near a scuttler carcass, and, surprisingly, the wood flickered to life--rust particles floating throughout the light the fire had generated. His pupils dilated at the sight, eyebrows raised just a tad and mouth formed to an 'o'.

Old Sport rubbed his hands together by the fire, soft breaths stuttering throughout the night air. Winter was definitely approaching, with the way his skin was crowded with goosebumps.

It should be fine.

Should be.

With a small cough into his fist, he stuck the fire with a nearby plastic fork--hoping to get it kicking enough so he could warm up the meat in his pocket.

Eventually, it did. (not before he tried punching it, though.) He hung it over the fire with the fork, dangling with just enough presence to make him feel predatory over it, watching it like a hawk..just incase. He'd lost his mop-sword after he'd lost a fight with his makeshift tent, falling into the cloth with a battle cry, wrestling the poor excuse for a shelter.

Once the hawk-gaze was over, he remembered something as he gnawed down onto the steak, chewing, swallowing..

Is Harry still alive?

...

..that night he went to bed, but not without a thought of Harry's whereabouts.

If he is,

where is he?


	4. Dumplings, rice, soysauce.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D U M P L I N G S .
> 
> Old Sport finds a good spot for some grub!
> 
> ..too bad the cashier is so afraid of him.
> 
> Say it ain't so!

H E . S M E L L S .

D U M P L I N G S .

Ravaging around for the smell, he sniffed the air every now and then like a bloodhound--the smell was just around the corner!

Old Sport H O W L E D at the bright moon, just minding its own business in the sky, like a wild animal. He figured it'd help him sniff it out by advancing all five senses like in the movies--but it moreso just got him a threatening glance from a passerby Candies' employee holding a spatula.

Wait, spatula?--

WASN'T IT A PIZZERIA?!

NOT A-A--

BURGERIA?!

IS THAT THE WORD?!

W H A T ' S A W O R D ? !

Stomach grumbling in the silence, (the oh-so terrifying one, considering the Candies' employee slapping the spatula against the palm of his hand, once gazing upon his Fazbenders' badge) he trudged forward onto his mission to find the source of the smell.

It did seem to be close, luckily, what with the smell of rice AND the dumpling approaching faster than he himself could. While they smelled like hot garbage, what dumplings place didn't?

Plus, beggars can't be choosers.

..especially when it comes to ACTUAL hot garbage, too. Those days make him shiver in disgust once he ends up remembering them.

Vivid!

Old Sport had ended up at a sad, tiny 'broke first-date' chinese restaurant, stumbling once he first walked in at the fact the building even had air-conditioning. Wow, he thought the last Candies' he slept at was bad.

The atmosphere was nice enough, a small child playing on their frog-tablet in the middle of the room, unsupervised. (atleast the child was SAFE here, honestly) And, with the added bonus of a fish tank!

Except, the fish was dying inside of it, pale and nearly lifeless.

Like him!

..eugh.

Well..on the bright side the place actually looked to be a buffet! Sweet!

Means he could E A T I T A L L and get away with it, with the minor flaw being the chef might throw something at his head in his get-away. Most Candies' chefs do..sometimes the WAITER throws something at him!

This could be his hideout for the night, though--open 24/7.

Which means no dinner for tonight, but he'll steal food later. It's too cold to be running outside with scalding dumpling in his hands, making his run into the night with the wind breezing against his skin--panting like the feral homeless man he is.

Old Sport crouched down, legs intertwining into a criss-cross-apple-sauce motion. The warm, humid AC heating him up juussttt right.

There's been a lot of days he's slept near a fire, garbage bag/blanket coming to life with a SCALDING HOT FIRE, LIGHTING HIS CLOTHES ON FIRE AND HAVING HIM ROLL IN CIRCLES LIKE A MADMAN, THE ENTIRE DUMPSTER ON FIRE AND HIM MAKING HIS ESCAPADE INTO THE NIGHT LIKE A MONSTER ONCE HE GETS OUT--

..and nights where he was just cold.

It was usually never in-between unless he was having a lucky night, sneaking into the Candies' establishment and sleeping behind the nightguards' chair.

That was, until the nightguard ending up having a small, bloody accident, and he chose to sleep in the Parts & Service room.

NO, HE ISN'T TRAUMATIZED.

HE SWEARS.

Aside from dead nightguards and Candies', he did find himself falling semi-asleep. It's nice to sleep in a safe establishment, afterall.

Then, a small, shy voice came from the counter.

Familiar.

Anxious.

PHONEY..

Hey, it's a phone!

"Uhm..sir? Are you going to purchase anything?"

Old Sport whipped his head to the counter, but even a small glance disappointed him.

A round-headed, green shaded phone with chips around the edges stared right back at the orange, zombie-man. Wasn't his phone, that's for sure.

"..s-sir?"

But.

"..s-sir, are you BUYING anything?"

..then came curiosity.

"You're.." a small whisper came from his lips, "a phone. A Fazbender phone." he raised a brow, there was still Fazbender phones out there? How?..weren't most dismantled?

The employee seemed nervous, now. "N-no, I'm not."

"But, you have a literal phone..on your head."

"N-no. It's a mascot, I-I swear."

"But your--"

The employee looked like he was about to explode, at this point. He was clenching his fists, metallic brows twisted upward with worry. A small sentence managed to pass his speakers, frightened.

"..don't hurt me."

He was staring at something on Old Sport's chest, to which he peeked down at.

Oh. Of course..his Fazbender's 'Official Manager' badge.

The orange man looked back up, shaking his hands as an act of peace--but the phone had run away.

Oh HELL no! This was the first phone contact he's had in 2 months! And, plus, maybe he's seen HIS phone, since, y'know..phones. He hopped over the counter like some sort of action movie, knocking down the register, making a bee-line to the phone.

It really was afraid, ducking and dodging any sort of shelf or counter, to which Old Sport crashed into unceremoniously. Not bad, phoney!

But, he's seen better.

..well, better action movies, that is.

He made his hunt known to every other chef in the building, his target desperately making his sad attempt to get away from him, but.. N O P H O N E E S C A P E S .

Not from Phonebusters!

A quick dive, a short-lived jump--it just wasn't enough for this phone--and eventually he made it to a dead end. Of course, it was the freezer, where most bad food-chains store their 'fresh food'.

The phone was PETRIFIED now. The tangerine had managed to catch up with him, although his hands now rested on his knees, the zombie now seeming to cough out his left lung--all that smoking outside his restaurant seemed to wreck his health. Who knew?

Man, what he would do for a Certified Aubergine™ cigar right now.

"P-please, no! I'm not getting dismantled! I-I-"

The phone reached into the freezer, pulling out a mouldy, frozen clump of rice and throwing it at his head. Ouch! All this for one fucking phonehead?! Christ on a kabob!

He held his head, feeling a slight concussion coming on, but he DID dodge a bucket of dumplings!

The dumplings spilled out of the bucket behind him, to which he made a small glance at--and the phone tried his hand at AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF SOYSAUCE.

The bottle crashed against the back of his head, shattering into small pieces, big pieces, and fell to the ground simultaneously.

Old Sport was pissed, now.

Slamming the phone against the freezer door, he grit his teeth to hold back any mean things he had to say. The phone was shaking in his grasp, his wrists pinned to his sides helplessly.

He looked back to the phone, growling. The white pinpricks of his eyes flared with rage, thick brows furrowed with rage.

But, the empathy kicked in, the poor phone shivering and those small, terrified noises--and he cooled down, literally. He did give him a warning, although. "Don't. Fucking. MOVE. If you do, I WILL DISMANTLE YOU FOR REAL, YOU PHONEHEADED DUNCE."

..that was a tad too harsh.

The phone seemed stuck to his spot, anyway, his entire figure still as it was somehow quaking.

He ran a hand over his head, seemingly as a way to destress himself, perhaps. This phone was way too much trouble, he knew how to parkour, the fuck--

"Listen, phoney, I'm not here to hurt you. The only real Fazbender's managers are either dead, long-time managers, or filthy, fat cat rich!" He made a gesture of good faith, ripping off the managers badge to expose his left nipple--ACCIDENTALLY.

"I'm not any of those--well, technically the first one I am--but that's nothing to worry about." he smiled, his missing front teeth making it rather awkward and sketchy, in reality. "So, I'm not one. You threw a soysauce bottle at my head for no real reason."

The phoney seemed ashamed, now. Whoops.

"..really?.." the phone frowned (metaphorically), "I..didn't realize that. B-but, you're not gonna turn me in, right?" annddd, whoop there it is.

"No, of course not.." he facepalmed, his other hand resting on his hip. "Let me sleep on the counter, and all mistakes will be forgiven."

The phone, of course, he seemed rather confused. "Wh-what?"

"Y O U H E A R D M E , P H O N E ."

The phone got the gist, eventually, with the downtrodden look of the former manager.

Greasy, garbage-tainted face, bags under his eyes, half naked with the way his clothes were torn, no shoes or socks--he absolutely REEKS, and he just tried sleeping in the front room, for gods sake.

The most unattractive zombie homeless man on Earth as of yet.

He felt bad, at this point--he should've known from the start.

"..sure."


	5. Chatting up the Phoneline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport decides to talk with the phoney, and it gets onto the topic of his past.
> 
> Old Sport is immortal.
> 
> Phoney is fuckin' scared.

This phone was DEFINITELY gonna explode.

He was scared beyond all belief, at this rate. He'd cleaned up the mess, picking all of it off the floor and putting it right back in. It's not like they'd notice, after all, and the phone, he had more soy sauce!

But now they were sitting at the register, with Old Sport atop of it, sleeping like a hairless cat--curled up into a ball. The phone was obviously still scared of him, despite knowing he's literally a homeless man. Seriously, he's a HOMELESS MAN without a WEAPON. What's the worst he could really do to the phone? Tell him stories of the boogey man?

He's met him himself! Real nice guy, actually. Besides the fact he HOGS ALL THE MEAT--

"..mphff, i'm still not gunna hurt yew, fffoney.." he mumbled, already halfway through falling asleep. The phone noticed this, even HEARD him, but still seemed to be cowering away from him like an abused puppy.

Old Sport peeked up from his sleeping position at first, a quick glance, but then full-on stared at him once he'd rested his chin on his arm good enough.

He couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to glare at him for longer than a second or two, but the phone wasn't getting it anyway. He sighed, putting his head back down and sniffing. Today was so..tiring. Especially since yesterday he tried to EAT a tire.

..didn't work.

"D-do you mind if I ask you something?" the phone was scared, of course. He was twiddling his thumbs back and forth, waiting for some sort of response.

The orange man nodded, putting his head back under the blanket of darkness that was his arms. He made the gun gesture, "Shoot. I've got more than enough time on this earth, nowadays."

"..it might be more than a few questions, now." the phone took a deep breath through his receivers--although it was probably in vain.

"What's your name?"

The zombie focused back at him, brows raised, he considered actually answering with a fake name for a second, but what's a phoney gonna report to the morgue about? 'I have a missing body over here! Help!'

"..Jack. Jack Kennedy." He chose, instead of choosing Old Sport or something akin to it--if he was called Old Sport OR Jack Kennedy, it hurts either way. He might as well be known as the sleeping immortal zombie on his counter, Freddy Fazbender's manager that somehow DIDN'T die in a horrible, god forbidden fire.

The worst part of nearly burning alive is that they thought they found his remains, and tried BURYING HIM--that was a PAIN to dig his way out of.

"That orange, zombie manager back at Fazbender's.." the phone nearly yelped, "N-NO OFFENSE! Just uh--s-saying how it actually is--" he tried to explain, but it only made matters worse..if Old Sport was actually mad at him.

Old Sport gave a nice, hearty laugh. It's been a while since he's had one of those..about 2 months, maybe..?

"No offense taken..just cool it." he waved him off, a small smile still making its way onto his face. His gap was whistling a tad, which made him feel insecure enough to shut his mouth closed again. Man, that happened way too often..when he DID smile around other people, that is to say, or smiled at all.

("Sportsy, that is fucking ADORABLE, you sonuva bitch! How did you hide it from me, all this time? How COULD you?" the aubergine man beside him had exclaimed, once a small smile caused the flute sound to emit, which lead to Dave's outrage at him not ever smiling before around him until now.

Old Sport was whistling even worse, now, the laughter still erupting from his throat. His eyes clenched closed, a fist forming his hand as he banged it on the counter, wheezing like a madman.

A flush of color to his face, and a dash of it to his ears, he found himself thinking just one thing.

Dave was such a weirdo.)

"W-well, I'd like to say it's nice to meet you..but I threw a soysauce bottle at your head as an attempt to murder you." the phone shuttered, his metallic brows making that worried face he's seen about a dozen times, now.

The tangerine man held out a hand for the phone to take, but he seemed to be standing still in place. "..handshake?" Old Sport asked, raising a brow up at the man.

"..how long?" the phone asked first, and the tangerine man pursed his lips, thinking of an answer--

"..two days?"

"S-sorry, but no. I don't know what you touch, and whether that's a lie or not..wait, how do you even wash your hands with no water?!" the phone shivered, "It hasn't been two days, has it?"

*NERVOUS SWEATING*

"Anyways..next question, how are you alive? Your remains were incinerated, buried 10ft underground, and somebody even put a TRACTOR atop your grave!" the phone looked nervous, but now it was even worse. He looked to be shrinking in on himself.

"F o o l s . T h e y t h o u g h t a M I N I S C U L E t r a c t o r w o u l d k e e p t h e m s a f e ?" Old Sport felt an indescribable feeling, it felt almost pinkish--but he proceeded to hack up his kidneys and he felt somewhat better. "And, I'm immortal. Looong story, but I don't even have a soul. I'm a corpse!..with personality. I like long walks in the dumpster in circles, and I have rabi--oh, yeah, that's right, this isn't my dating profile, this is a conversation."

..awkward silence.

"Where's your soul..? Can't you just, y'know, put it back in?" the phone tilted that stupid head of his in a silly way, that reminded him slightly of a doggo.

"Nope. It moved on a while ago, BEFORE the Fazbender's incident, even." he explained, random gang signs here and there. "It took the form of my dog, too. His name was Jack, technically, but technically it's mine too--so I called him Blackjack to compensate."

The phone was gonna fucking die. SUCH LORE! MUCH MYSTERIOUS!

"Blackjack died, and I didn't move on. His soul was released from me once he decided he'd had enough of me, and ran off to do his own thing." Old Sport looked to the side, "But, long story short..he couldn't move on either, because.."

"Someone..no, someTHING, murdered us. He wanted revenge, meanwhile I just wanted to live the life I never got to live, because I wasn't a soul, I was a corpse. He stuck our murderer somewhere, and kept him sealed away for decades..instead of just, y'know, KILLING HIM." Old Sport coughed, "Blackjack never moved on, thus, until I came along with a bunch of..y'know what.."

Old Sport grimaced now, "That's..not important anymore. People came together with me and him, and we killed Henry for good." he ran a hand over his face, "They got freed from the Flipside, a place where souls stay because of injustice, and I had to stay behind and burn alive in reality because I was just a corpse..but, Blackjack gave me a blessing."

Old Sport looked back to the phone, a dead expression masking his true feelings.

A corpse look..casual.

"He made me immortal."


	6. And it burns, burns, burns..the ring of fire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport tells just a tiny bit more about his past..
> 
> ..if you want to tell whether or not he's an orange kiddin' murder that abuses his employees--or a kind soul-saver that still abuses his employees.
> 
> In the meantime, afterwards, they talk about a name for the phone.

The phone looked at Old Sport, brows raised. He seemed surprised, and just as scared..

"Wow..t-that's..sad. I'm sorry." The phone looked down, "But, you said y-your friends--they were at rest, now? Even your soul?"

Old Sport nodded. "Yup, even mine. He moved on with the rest of them..and the only one out of two people who knew I couldn't come with them." That statement in question had made the phone rather curious, doing that stupid head-tilt again--most phoneys do it. It makes him wonder if it was programmed into them..

"One out of two?..who else knew?" asked the phoney, as phoney as could be. Old Sport felt like venting, so why not talk about it? It could..ease the pain, even if it still hurt to remember in the same spot. A dilemma, if you will.

"Well," he began, "there was a man named 'Dave Miller', once. Me and him..best of pals. Atleast, his SOUL was my best pal. I..don't know so much about his corpse." Old Sport cringed, looking down, "He had the same problem I had. His soul was ready to move on..his corpse wasn't, Except," he held a finger up, "His corpse was a bastard, his soul wasn't."

"I killed kids with him, once. I didn't regret it at the time--but I did once I had my own restaurant. I remembered someone special to me, and realized they were only a child, too. I promised someone else, just as well, to save those children. To make up for my wrongs. To..redeem myself." Old Sport winced, the memory would hurt his soul..if he HAD ONE--

"I'd murdered ten children, before an offer was proposed to me. The Promise. The whole shabang of being an entirely better person, blah blah blah. I took it, once I really thought about the person close to me..my sister, Dee. Three decades passed until I was finally able to fulfill my promise, at last."

"His soul had moved on, somewhere during those three decades. He thought I wasn't coming back, maybe I died, or just didn't want to see him. He was hurt--" Old Sport took a second to feel bad, just one. "and whilst attempting to move on, he couldn't. He needed confirmation, to know how I died, or whether I hated him or not. Whatever it was, he couldn't go free without knowing."

Old Sport tried to bite back the tears, and it was most likely obvious to the phoney, considering he looked even sadder now. This felt a lot like a pity party, now. "I went to the Flipside, and there he was..waiting. He said he'd waited so, so long at some point, during other chats we had. If I'd died..he would've never been freed." he sighed, this felt stupid to tell a phoney.."I came looking for stray souls, and, eventually found the person close to me..she was suspicious, but caved in, and--let's skip all the extra bits, at some point, Dave's body found me, I brought him back considering how he gave such a hurt puppy vibe off, but THEN he asked me to kill kids with him..and I said no."

"He went OFF. Like firecrackers, I swear! He got up into my face, yelling about how we were partners, that I couldn't leave him..and he left in a rage, vowing to destroy both me AND my restaurant." he coughed, "Skipping extra bits, I worked on my business, and planned with Dave and Dee, at the same time, on how to free all the souls that were killed by both the franchise, as well as me and Dave. I burned my entire business down, the last Freddy's on the entire earth that was alive, in order to stop Dave and free all the innocent souls trapped in animatronics. It's also how I found out I was immortal.."

"..2 months ago."

The phone looked like he could've wiped a tear away from his eye, if he had one. "Well..I'm glad they're free, then. It sounds like you've been through enough for a lifetime..even though you're gonna go through more than one." the green-headed phone looked down, twirling his phone cord anxiously. 

"Yeah, true." Old Sport rolled his eyes, before realizing something he probably should've asked 20 minutes earlier. "Do you have a name?" oops, "I mean--your ALIVE name." asked Old Sport, since, y'know. Politeness? Afterall, he's been calling him phoney inside of his head for the past 5 minutes.

"..alive name?" the phone queried in turn.

"You don't know what an alive name is?" Old Sport raised a brow, "Okay, well..it's what most phoneys have before they died. It's pretty common for them not to know, unless someone like an old family member told them, maybe a friend from before trying to get through to them..so I don't blame you."

"Oh." the phone seemed embarrassed. "I don't KNOW my alive name.." he looked to Old Sport, "..can I make up one?"

Old Sport shrugged, "Sure, that is, if you want to." he ricocheted that, after a second, "Do you need help making one up?" came the question, and the phone hesitated before actually answering. "Oh, uh, sure! J-just, don't say anything..rude?"

"Hmm.." he was in thought for just a moment, looking back to the phone head of his. He's got it! "Lucas. It fits, doesn't it?"

The phone nodded. "It does.."

"It does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry this was short :(, it's another lore chapter bc i wanted to explain the timeline for old sport--if you want to know what happened but don't want to read all of it/are confused by whatever jack said, here's a rendition of it.
> 
> he murders ten kiddins with dave, who is both soul and body at the time, and once old sport disappears for three decades.. dave's soul separates from his body to move on, but can't without knowing where old sport is, and whether old sport's died or hates him for some reason.
> 
> old sport is proposed the promise from fredbear, and he accepts, after realizing dee was just a child when SHE died, so ofc he does. he wants to right his wrongs as stated in the chapter.
> 
> he meets dave in the flipside as per the game, and they plan, etcetc, they kill dave's body, and the place burns down while freeing all the souls. jack is given a blessing by blackjack once knowing he can't come with, which is immortality. which leads alllll the way up to here.


	7. Another word for 'Winter'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport leaves, but not without a 'romantic' gesture from Lucas.
> 
> He thinks about Dave, and their time in Vegas, and begins to feel a bit sad.
> 
> He's finding food, now. Ooh, and water.
> 
> ..maybe some new pants.

Old Sport ate an entire two bowls of noodles before the D E S P E R A T E hunger in his foul stomach went down. Lucas was staring at him from across the other side of the room where he was cleaning--but quickly looked away as soon as he did.

It was day, now, and the phone was washing off tables and sweeping the roaches off the floor to prepare for reopening the shop by himself. Last night he learned there were no other suckers here but Lucas, and he'd also learned Lucas just slept in a sleeping bag, considering the fact he has no money to even rent a hotel room. It made Old Sport wish he had a home for more than just the purpose of him having to himself..almost.

Yeah, he's still a semi-bastard. Can you blame him after having spent all that time with Dave, and having NO soul in the first place?

Lucas slept just as well as Old Sport did, with the way bugs were around this place..Old Sport proceeded to have PTSD all night, thinking a SCUTTLER was on him, despite size differences. Oh, and he'd had a dream last night. (once he'd gotten to sleep)

Although, the more he thought about it..he couldn't recall what it was.

Maybe it was a PTSD dream--he recalls waking up all sweaty..but it was good, considering it gave him a half-bath.

(Old Sport could see them.

They're so far away,

but so close.

He could reach out.

..though, his hands won't stay up.

No matter how hard he tried,

they were waiting for him,

but he couldn't come with.)

Yeah, it's probably just another weird dream about scuttlers. He's had plenty of those after the P E A N U T - B U T T E R I N C I D E N T .

Harry was definitely not pleased..but that's a story for a different time, eh?

Old Sport hopped off of the counter, he should probably go..Lucas might just be waiting for the scary orange zombie that just told him his entire life story, like an old war veteran--to leave. It might be for the best, anywho.

"U-uhm, what's up, Jack?" Lucas questioned, looking back to him to see the man standing up so suddenly.

"I'm gonna go.." Old Sport coughed into a fist, before blinking once, twice.."Oh, yeah--actually, I've got a question." Old Sport opened his wallet, it had no money in it, of course. There was an old photo of him and Dave in Vegas, twice--and they seemed to be having a really good time. The other was when Fazbear's had just opened, and there was Harry, giving a thumbs up as Old Sport hung a lazy arm around him, waving at the timed camera and smiling like a fool.

Old Sport was so, so proud back then. It's a shame how it went up in flames, so quickly.

Literally.

He took the photo out, before rushing up to Lucas and handing it to him.. "Have you seen this man?" he said, pointing to the phoneheaded man in the photo. "He was my old employee--I just need to know..is he okay? Safe, even?" Old Sport looked up at Lucas, "He helped me save the souls, hell, even my friends and family--he boarded up everything so NOTHING could escape once he did. I want to know..if he got caught in the crossfire of it all."

Lucas could've frowned, if he had a face. Instead, his brows twisted, upset. "I'm sorry..I haven't. I came here ever since there was just three establishments left, since the one I was with closed because of a incident with a HORRIFIC accident involving a janitor with cocaine, eight glowsticks and a window pane..I moved here since they're so shady they wouldn't ASK about my head."

Old Sport felt a pang of disappointment, but nonetheless thanked him--and went to the door to exit, but there was something, very, very wrong.

It was really white out there.

No, it's not a Las Vegas, Nevada foxy strip-club.

It's..

..snow.

"Fuck." Old Sport swore, just under his breath, but apparently loud enough to the point the phone heard.

"W-what's wrong?" asked Lucas, timid. He was wiping off a particularly gross mess from a counter top, it looked slightly..green? Was that vomit?! Nevermind, Lucas was probably waiting for a response--

"It's snowing..homeless people and snow don't mix. I don't even have money to AFFORD medicine, or a heater, or--anything, really." Old Sport ran a hand over his non-existent hair, this was totally gonna fuck up his scavenging and what-not. You've got to be fucking with him! This is not good..this would ruin everything, now, he can't just keep snatching meals from Lucas, he needs to find other food so he doesn't actually owe Lucas anything.

Lucas looked and most likely felt exhausted, but a tremor ran through his body. "Oh, geez..I'm sorry, Jack..I can give you this, if you..want it?"

Old Sport looked back, and Lucas was holding his coat out. What a gentleman! Old Sport could've swooned, so romantic of him, to do that for little old him. Of course he's saying yes, he fucking needs it--

"Toss it to me."

Lucas aimed and fired--shooting the coat right to him from across the room. Old Sport caught it, epic! He held the coat in his hands, before swiping it on.

"I really gotta get going--especially since you're about to open. But uh.." Old Sport looked away, back out to the harsh, cold winter snow falling to the ground. It was probably gonna glaciate him--he might turn to one of those weird, frozen neanderthals. If he's found--he'll be shown off in a museum..NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY, PLEASE, repeating in his mind.

"Thanks, Lucas."

"C-catch you later, Jack. Try to return it by spring, atleast..if you're gonna be gone for a while." Lucas waved, a small gesture, but definitely an appreciated one. "Oh--a-and, be safe!"

Old Sport nodded to the phone/man, a small grin--waving back as he opened the shop door, walking outside, only to get a faceful of ice particles.

Yeah, he had gotten one in his eye.

Yeah, he's crying.

Yeah, it hurts.

He rubbed at his eyes, an attempt to clear the blur. The sun no longer shone in the sky, and instead there was a cold, blank sky, small white crumbs of frost falling instead of crisp, autumn leaves just as they were a month or two ago.

The jacket felt better than he expected, although. It felt..warm. Like a constant heater, it smelt of onion noodles and a slight mold. That wasn't too pleasant, but it was better than how he himself smelled, atleast. Probably better than he'd expected, with the standards of that place.

Enough of the jacket talk--the real thing to do was figure out what to do now. Survive for the winter was a start, but there's gotta be something other than that..finding another source of food? It'd be hard, but worth it if he didn't starve before then. A source of water would be good, too. Maybe he'd just chuck open the ice pools and drink the water, there.

He needs new pants--these dress pants won't last for long if elderly people keep calling out the holes in his jeans. DON'T YOU JOG AWAY FROM ME--STOP RUNNING BEFORE I THROW MY WALKING STICK AT YOU--

Old Sport managed to scrounge around, but only found an old mattress and a few loose cigarettes. Y'know, he could always shoplift..

Nah, actually..most of the places around here are SMALL businesses, might put Delaware outta work. Those Delaware sure love working at small businesses..

HA.

DELAWARE.

S M A L L .

He found that not alot of dumps held clothes..they seemed to be rather empty, considering they were dumps. Guess all the homeless people salvaged what was left before winter came. Huh. Disappointing, although expected. 

Well..this was uneventful.

Almost as uneventful as watching paint dry..or watching grass grow..or watching Dave try to eat three kabobs at once.

Actually, that was pretty eventful.

Apart from that, he examined the large holes in his knees and went for a walk through the town. The boy(s) were back in town!

It's like he's blue, ai ba de ai ba dai--but instead he's orange.

Don't stop him now!

This was a sad attempt to hype himself up. Usually, back then, when he and Dave were still pals..Dave would reference songs, memes, all that shit. They had so many good times at Vegas, and it's the only time they'd chat, considering the rest of it was killing kiddins'. He'd told him his entire life story on those Vegas trips, and showed him so many songs, talked so much shit about phoneys..

He tugged the jacket around him to enclose himself, this was getting nostalgic again.

Old Sport walked around, and the food was most definitely scarce. Water was good, though. Untouched mostly, and some holes were already chipped open from other homeless people.

Making it through this would be nice..he really doesn't WANT to lose any limbs..it's his worst fear, at this point. He doesn't want to be a vegetable! HE'S A FRUIT! VEGETABLES ARE BAD, KIDS--DON'T BE A VEGETABLE, BE A FRUIT!

..wait, isn't Dave a vegetable?

Now he feels bad, great.

Eh..

Time to get to work!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i listened to 80's-2000's songs the entire time writing this, so excuse references!! i just had to, honestly.
> 
> p.s if you like MY story, for even a more chaotic twist, read Lucario's awesome DSaF fanfic that has a different premise--but WAY more chapters and a beautiful storyline that might blow your mind in total. i got alot of inspiration to write this from that book :')


	8. If I could name an eggplant..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport goes on a quest, and that quest is for a source of food!
> 
> He does find some..but also finds he's been running in circles.
> 
> With a glance around, he finds somewhere new. It makes him shy, considering how 'normal' they were.
> 
> Remembering something Dave said, although..made him feel better.

He is FREEZING.

Hiding inside his jacket was hard, because in honesty--his neck hurts when he bends it like that from sleeping in a weird position on that damned counter. The frostbite that might be forming somewhere on his face hurts more, though.

Lucas's jacket was a bit bigger than him, which fit him like a Size Adult fits a 3 month old baby..it looked almost humorous on him.

He wasn't in a hurry to make it any smaller, although, because what kinda homeless man gives up extra warmth? None, that's how sad this is! The jacket actually went down below his waist, extending to the upper part of his knee. But, it did not have a hoodie to warm his face. Unfortunate, considering his face might be turning blue and frosty, like a nice summer smoothie!

Old Sport had tried for possibly hours, but found no food in his searches, besides a few saltine crackers, a string of sausages that looked ragged from a particular strangling, and multiple patches of snow. Damn. This was hard!

His life is set to 20/20/20/20..

waitwha--

With that, he munched on the saltine crackers once he'd cleaned them off the best he could. They were soggy from the layers of snow that packed ontop of them, but neatly tucked into a half-packaged bag, they were still pretty edible. Old Sport didn't entirely know what to do with the sausages..they were long since mouldy..but hey, he used to work at Freddy's for doggo's sakes! It's not his first rodeo with mouldy food!

He stuffed them down his throat, like a reversed clown video--and found himself full within a few minutes of choking on them.

They tasted like morphine.

..odd? He doesn't know, anymore.

Hooked on a feeling--

In a deeper sense of familiarity, he continued his path, with a obvious sense of stride from the ridiculous way he'd strutted down the street, humming a nice tune. But, on the way, he'd caught sight of something.

He'd passed that Candies', again.

What was up with that place..?

No sign..no brand name.

Same layout.

..wait--didn't that mean he was circling around town?

FOR FUCKS SAKE--

He's been circling! This ENTIRE TIME! He's been circling ever since he ended up at that noodle shop, and he's heading straight back towards it!

Huffing, he watched the puff of pure warmth fade in his rage, and shook his head. He's wasted his time here long enough. This was it! He's heading in another damn direction, or he's gonna go mad!

Old Sport took a sporty left in his haste, or, more of a furious tantrum, watching for any suspiciously repeated neighborhoods.

He tried to not get any stains on Lucas's jacket, considering he was venturing into a totally unknown territory currently, and other homeless men might try and take his coat. That's another thing aswell, they might try to steal it!

Not on his fucking watch.

THEY WISH THEY HAD A PHONE BOYFRIEND--

..wait, no. They're not even..

With a small dose of cancer he injected into his vein--he felt much better after that.

Old Sport recognized street signs, of course, but not much else. He might want to leave some bread crumbs behind to recognize the path back..but he remembers that other homeless people will most likely E A T I T . Not wise, especially since he didn't HAVE bread crumbs..

So, he chose to leave behind patches of grass, after ripping them out from beneath the snow with the elegance of a coal miner.

He's..slightly afraid they might eat that, too.

Continuing his travels into the foreign lands..only thirty feet or so away from the area he was just in, he saw a lot of people beginning to gather, the farther he went in. So many people, so many new faces.

Women and children, men and..doggos?

Huh. Nice?

The people around here made him a little sheepish. There were so many--he's never experienced crowd anxiety, but there were lots of them, that's for sure. It made him feel ashamed with the way he looked! Most of the time he spent around people that were like him, other homeless people, Lucas, etc. But, these people looked so well-dressed, and he looked like..

A silent glimpse was all it took to make him feel hot in the face.

He was absolutely filthy. There were dirt stains and other mysterious fluids all over his clothes, his pants had so many holes in them, his shoes were MISSING, and the jacket he wore smelled wayyy too funky. Plus, he was an orange, semi-rotting corpse with no nose, two front teeth missing, no nails, his eyes were reversed, no real hair besides the touch on his eyebrows--and he REEKED of garbage.

Well..that didn't take long for him to feel humiliated.

Shrinking in on himself, he realized that this was a society of NORMAL people. He wished he'd had a GPS, for once. These places made him feel..

Like a..well..

Freak of nature.

He actually was, but this place definitely rubbed it in. So many people, so regular..

Old Sport wanted to leave. He really did, but, at his time in Vegas with Dave, he'd told him something.

It was more of a general thought, as many spewed from his mind--but it felt so assuring..

("Sportsy, fuck 'normal people'."

Old Sport smiled, a short laugh, a just-as-short whistle. "Dave..what?"

"I said," obviously faking annoyance, "Fuck 'normal' people! Tell me, sportsy, what do 'normal people' look like?' He looked to his Old Sport, raising his brows and leaning over slightly closer. They were sitting on the bed, eating kebabs with eachother in the silence.

"Uh..the exact opposite of you and me?" Old Sport answered, taking bites here and there out of his kebab.

"Well, yeah!" he smiled, but quickly went back on-topic. "But sportsy..y'know how they look at us, whenever we come to Vegas, and we're in the airport? How they look at me? at YOU?"

Old Sport nodded, "Yeah..? What's your point here, Dave?"

Dave took a moment to pause, but eventually came up with his correct answer. "Well, I said what I said! They think we're FREAKS, sportsy. Those common folks don't like freaks!" he crawled across the bed, reaching his sporsty--before holding his hand and putting on a smug, all-knowing glare.

"But y'know, fuck em'! They ain't got NOTHING on what we got, sportsy! We're unique! And," he laughed, "They're just jealous of us, and the fact that we can do so much better, and BE so much better! We can do as we please, but if THEY ever did that..they're a fuckin' outcast!"

He threw himself back, doing the equivalent to the 'paint me like one of your french girls' pose. "We are better by default, sportsy. They're jealous because they'll never be more than just a typical degenerate!"

Old Sport felt his heart swell, but he tried playing it off like a casual.

"Since when you'd become a public speaker, Dave?" Old Sport interrogated, chuckling.

Dave was brave to frustrated in just two seconds, crossing his arms.

"Ever since they looked at MY SPORTSY funny!" he said, sighing with an exasperation only Dave himself could pull off.

This was way too funny to ignore, so he let out a quick snicker, and responded just as easily.

"Sure, Dave. Suree.")

He felt his confidence grow just a little with that..Dave was always so good with words, when he had more than just a few braincells inside that purple noggin of his.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to take a look around the place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm probably immediately writing another chapter after this. i hated how this turned out, considering it didn't have any real relation to the direction i'm taking this story in. it was moreso him just messing around and doing the nostalgia thing i've been doing wayy too often, and i hate repeating in my stories..:(
> 
> well, whether or not you enjoyed, there'll be another chapter in 0.22 seconds, just you wait!


	9. Project Find the Phone!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport runs into Lucas, his favorite phone, once again.
> 
> Handing him back his jacket, Old Sport asks the phone a VERY important favor.
> 
> Phoney says yes, because he's a sucker, and Old Sport is an evil bastard sometimes, that's just how it is. It happens when you're completely soulless, afterall.
> 
> They head back to shop, so Old Sport can get some grub, or maybe they'll chill. Who knows? It's fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i added a project save the kiddins' reference for the title. i fucking love the name that dave made lmao

It's been a month, ever since he's found this place.

He's seen so many things in this part of town, it was..a ride! If he had to describe which ride, although..it'd be the teacup ride. Makes you vomit right after you exit, after all the staggering stops, light-headed, as you try to find breath in such an odd predicament.

Old Sport still found it rather hard to make his way through the people, albeit his confidence.

They pushed and shoved, always looking for a space to get through. Maybe they were busy, maybe they were just rude. It could just be another normal thing he could never really understand.

He'd ended up with his tuckus on the ground once he'd been shoved by hard enough to get knocked down, landing with a triumphant 'oof'.

People passed by, and one even managed to land their foot on his chest--yelping and running into the crowd. He grit his teeth, hissing. That kinda hurt. He sat up, well enough..and was just beginning to get ready to push himself upwards off the snowy concrete before a familiar hand eventually reached out to him. That's..odd.

He took hold of it, and was pulled up jarringly--making him slightly disorriented before he regained his footing. Old Sport was pulled just a bit away from the crowd, and there was something green staring right back at him.

Oh, heeyy..

"J-Jack?" asked the figure, and it--no, he smiled, and it turns out..Lucas! Hip hip..hooray?

Old Sport blinked once, twice..yup, it's his favorite phone as of recent. Lucas in the flesh!..and plastic. "Oh, hey, Lucas." he gave a toothy grin, and as per each and every time..came the whistle note. "How've you been? Want this back?"

Old Sport slid off the jacket, and Lucas stared at it before nodding, slipping it on just as well.

"I-I've been..alright? Not too much has happened since you left..just, y-y'know, regular kitchen business." Lucas scratched at the back of his neck, giving off that apprehensive vibe again. Oi, this phone! He already knows they're friends, so why would he ever hurt him?

..well, there was that time he pinned him against a freezer door, giving off the most angry look he's given since Dave called him a zombie stripper.

HE'S NOT A ZOMBIE STRIPPER!

HE'S A REFINED ONE IF ONE AT ALL!

L E A V E H I M A L O N E - -

..oops, off-topic again.

"..I think I could say the same? I've been looking for food, but there's not alot..lots of water, if you chuck a hole up." Lucas adjusted his coat. Old Sport wondered for just a moment if he liked the smell of it now..? It didn't smell too great..he hopes it's okay, for once.

He's his only source of food, afterall.

Lucas pointed with a thumb over his shoulder. "W-we could always go back to the shop, if you need food. My boss never actually noticed that food missing, he never..checks." Lucas coughed, wrung his hands together, meanwhile rocking on his heels at the same time. All the key ingredients for a bashful phone.

Old Sport shrugged, "Sure, phoney! You're leading the way, I don't gotta GPS."

Lucas nodded, putting the two tips of his fingers together and looking away. "Okay..l'-let me just--" he pulled out a map, it looked like..a mark-on-the-X pirates map!

Man. Coulda used that.

..wait!

"Lucas." said Old Sport, putting a hand on Lucas's shoulder. Lucas jumped, his phone growing slightly hotter as he looked back at Old Sport. "O-oh--uhm, ye-yes?" he stuttered, phone reaching maximum heat, at any rate.

"If I can't FIND my phone, or even if I do and he's.." Old Sport squirmed, he really didn't wanna say it. "..dismantled, I need to haul ass back to Colorado." Old Sport bit his lip, "I'll do anything, as long as you bring me there. Bring me home--whether it's demolished or still standing, I'll pay you well, in whatever I can."

"H-home? You have a home? Why didn't you tell me? I-I could've brought you there anyway.." Lucas had said, so innocently. As if he would've brought a complete stranger to Denver, 831 miles away from Los Angeles..

Old Sport rolled his eyes, "Because, I need to find Harry first." he sputtered, "I mean--my phone. I forgot to say he was my phone..ugh--will you help me or not?"

He took hold of the phones shoulders, giving him the most serious, intense look he could pull off. "I need to know I can trust you, and you won't just die halfway there, or leave, or..just about anything that involves you leaving this plane of existence!"

Lucas was gonna bust, from the way his phone was flaring with a newfound hiss. Was it steaming? Could phones do that? The world may never know--"Y-yes. I can do that!"

Wow, this phone was either desperate or really, really gullible. Sad, if it weren't for his soul having been freed 3 months ago. (February is snowy hell, when does christmas END?) "Good," he said, with somewhat finality. "first job in business is finding my phone. You don't have to look with me, I just need to find out..on my own, I suppose. I just need to know whether he's dead or alive before I go."

That sentence was an odd reminder of an aubergine that couldn't go without knowing, either!

"O-okay, Jack. Let's go, now..?" said Lucas, whether it was in form of a question or not, Old Sport simply nodded.

Time to go, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more plot development! old sport plans to go back to colorado, with or without harry. this chapters satisfying, atleast more than the last one--
> 
> p.s, updates might not be as frequent, or might stop completely. i might not be able to afford keeping wifi on anymore, so i just hope i can push through enough to keep making this story for y'all :')


	10. N O  P L E A S E . ( Y E S . )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport and Lucas hang out, chill as can be.
> 
> They talk about Old Sport's adventures with Harry, as bored people/phonemen do nowadays.
> 
> Old Sport runs into someone he never thought he'd see again..

Maybe they did both!

Chilling and eating, that is.

Lucas was sitting next to Old Sport, listening to him talk about his employee (lawsuit, tax, and business expense manager) and the time he'd had to wrangle a scuttler off his face.

"I was having a grand ol' time, that day. Dave wasn't around until later when I had a business, so in the days BEFORE Dave's body came around, I had some fun times with Harry. AKA the..peanut butter incident." Old Sport scowled at the memory, "That scuttler did NOT let go. Harry had to whip out the flametorch, to which I screamed and ripped my clothes off, considering half my savings for the business went to those damn clothes."

"W-what?! You spent most of your savings for a suit that you just ended up destroying?!" the phone facepalmed, "You could've used that money to build insurance on that place!"

Old Sport thought about that..he COULD have done that, but then there would've never been a graveyard for all the stones that now rest in the dirt, marking all the lost souls names that were forgotten with Fazbear's.

He couldn't let him know that. It would make him a tad too soft for his liking.

"I guess I just..didn't think of it at the time. Plus, it's not like I knew the building was gonna burn down in a arson's wet dream!" Old Sport brushed it off, like a speck of dust on his shoulders. "Anywho, Harry chased me around the restaurant while I had on only my boxers, screaming to 'STAND STILL!', to which I did not."

Old Sport cleared his throat, "Dave had a phobia of needles. I had a phobia of, after discovering the damned things EAT FLESH, even rotten--scuttlers themselves."

Lucas tittered, just a moment of time--and nodded.

"Y'know..I had a brother, Peter, once. When he and I were kids, we used to play a game." Old Sport smiled, now, "It was..stupid as hell, but--it was fun for us."

Old Sport took out a pen, rusted to all hell, but it still had an inkling left inside to draw with. "You got any paper?" he asked, to which Lucas handed over (once he found his notebook). Old Sport drew something on it, and presented it to the other man.

Lucas was confused, but he continued, "It's where you draw something with just a hint of what it actually is, but it has just enough resemblance for the other person to tell. It's fun, trust me, phoney."

Seeming up to the challenge, Lucas nodded for him to go on.

"So--"

There erupted a chime from the bell, to the side of them.

Old Sport went quiet, face deadpan.

"O-oh, hi boss." said Lucas, hushed as ever.

No..

No fucking way.

He looked to the figure standing in the doorway, and there sat a oh-too-familiar, dressed head-to-toe in a fucking BUSINESS SUIT.

Old Sport went slackjaw, to be honest. There was no WAY this FUCKING VIRGIN..

The man walked up to Old Sport, giving a wave.

THE GUNSHOTS WERE DISTANT, BUT EVEN SO--THEY WERE THERE.

M A T T .

"Hey, scary orange man. What are you doing here?" asked Matt, that HORRIFYING VIRGIN SMILE STILL ROOTED ONTO HIS FACE LIKE A DISEASE, EVER SINCE HE'S SEEN HIM LAST--

Lucas looked to Old Sport, questioning, "Jack? Y-you know my boss?"

Old Sport felt disgusted, but with a sneer, he accepted it. "Unfortunately.."

"Y E S ." Matt finished, "I was an employee at Freddy Fazbender's, even at his business. We are well acquainted."

"He's still as creepy as I remember him." they said in unison--to which both made a face at that wasn't one considered good. "..anyway," Old Sport tried, "Matt used to work at my business, Uncle Jack's Family Diner--I thought he fucking died with the place. Burned alive--or something."

Lucas was shocked, "Your business was THAT--oh, that should've been obvious..but--you LIVED through that, boss?" Lucas looked to his boss, now, who nodded with that CREEPY FUCKIN' SMILE--

Don't FUCKING DO IT--

"Y E S ."

Oh GOD--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's pretty short, which i apologize for :(
> 
> p.s..
> 
> https://x-purt.tumblr.com/post/628653825111228416


	11. Phone here, phone there..phone where? Nowhere!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport gets an offering!
> 
> He might just accept it, honestly.
> 
> No one can face the wrath of M A T T .
> 
> Lucas asks him about his future with Harry, and Old Sport has a couple ideas..

Matt, after a well-needed, (but unwanted) chat about what's been going on in their lives, left.

But, he proposed an offer to him.

More specifically, a job offering.

With how horribly he treated Matt, it was..unexpected. But, who else would he hire to work for him? Not a lot of people would work here, especially not for outdated Fazbender coins and a few morsels of rabbit.

Although, for a business run by a previous Fazbender employee..that was probably a lot to him.

Old Sport sat next to Lucas, who kicked his feet with prestige. "Well, I suppose my boss really did know you..do you.." Lucas cut off, "..nevermind."

He raised a brow at this, now he was curious. "What? What were you going to say?" asked Old Sport, to which Lucas cringed at. "Well.." Lucas continued, dropping the dough, spilling the beans..whatever you preferred.

"Did you ever find Matt..creepy, when he was your employee? Or co-worker, at some point?"

Old Sport took a second, a firm one.

He was trying so hard.

Lucas was staring, and Old Sport tried to swallow, but he only swallowed air. This..

Okay, that..

Fuck.

Old Sport couldn't help it. He busted out laughing, a hearty series of them, too. It was just too funny, honestly. "Of course I did, who DOESN'T, phoney?" He let out another chuckle, running a hand over his bald head. Seriously, he kept thinking he had fucking hair.

Lucas laughed, too. "Yeah..I guess so. I thought I was the only one, because no one else ever says anything. Then again, the customers aren't around when he is. He comes in at around..8, maybe? Depends if he decides he wants to check up on stock, or to check if it's burned down yet."

Old Sport shrugged, but, he couldn't have been the only to have felt a tremor. "Wait, by yet..do you mean he's WAITING for it to..y'know..?"

Lucas didn't answer, and instead directed the topic to another.

"..anyways, can you believe it, Jack?!" Lucas jumped on the seat next to the man, kicking his legs together, but Old Sport went for a more..apathetic approach. "I can. Matt is desperate, phoney."

Lucas nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck and sighing, "Well, yeah--" Lucas looked back to Old Sport, dejected. "--but, aren't you..happy to work with me?"

Old Sport shrugged. Heartless bastard? Yes! "It's not a big deal..atleast I can MAYBE sell the rabbit morsels, if they haven't been tainted by his filthy virgin hands." Old Sport looked back to a piece of clay he'd found on the ground, it looked like..an eggplant, if he shaped it well enough.

Lucas looked downright pitiable, now.

..oops.

"B-but--uh, I..look forward to it? We could have fun!" Old Sport smiled, albeit forced, tense, even. But, Lucas still brightened up. "R-really?" asked Lucas, to which Old Sport nodded. "Y-yeah! Really." he said, coughing into a fist.

They stood in the silence, Lucas only giving a glance one or two times.

Lucas was probably still tired, from his guess. Maybe from last night, maybe from Matt's mere virgin presence..or maybe he'd just had a long day yesterday, before Jack swung by. It could be a lot of things, but, instead of thinking about it..he looked back to Lucas. Huh.

"So.." Old Sport began, wringing his hands together. Talking with his phone, Harry, was a rarity. He never knew how to talk to phones, because he only came by to talk to Harry whenever he needed help running the Fazbender business, such as taxes, lawsuits, and possible..problems. If not that, it's another, where right before he met Lucas--he hadn't seen another human being slash phone for 3 whole months!

"..you like being a phone?"

Wow. Talk about socially inept.

Lucas looked back over to Old Sport, slightly confused, then hurt. "What?.." he kept on twiddling those damn thumbs, for gods sake--

Old Sport took a deep, deep breath, and let it out just as quick. A puff, a huff, whatnot.

"Phoney, before I met you, I hadn't seen another living soul besides the other homeless men and a few flocks of geese. My already horrible social skills had depleted faster than my food, somehow," he looked away, feeling frustrated with himself--and it'd only been less than a minute. "so just ignore that, please."

Lucas nodded, looking back off to his fidgeting hands, questioning.

Though, it'd only be three seconds before he'd try to fill the awkward silence.

"..Jack?" Lucas sat up, heavy, plastic phone head turning to take note of Old Sport's expression as he did so. "When you find..your phone, and I bring you to Denver--and I go back home.." he watched Old Sport's composure dim, like putting a lampshade over a lightbulb. This was probably something he didn't want to talk about, but Lucas was always a curious mind.

"..what are you going to do with your life, after that?"

Old Sport wasn't upset, no. He just wondered why ALL of their conversations were awkward, at any rate.

"I don't know." was his only reply, but it didn't satisfy the phone. No, it made his sudden interest on the topic worse.

"How do you not know?" Lucas was concerned, now, "I thought you'd..have it all planned out by now?" he coughed, (despite not even having the ability to REALLY cough, it was just for emphasis.) "N-not to say that it's not the right way to go, no, I just thought you'd have an IDEA, atleast."

Old Sport seemed to be shaken, just a little, but it was good enough for Lucas, whatwith Old Sport being his stubborn self. Of course, Lucas had never SEEN Old Sport's stubborn side, but now that he was--he's glad he even got a dent in.

He cracked, "Well," he began, "I don't KNOW, but if I were to give it any sort of..y'know, official plan," a pause, maybe a moment of thought?, "the first thing would be to open a business." Old Sport smiled, a little too proud of himself, "Yeah, with animatronics, bear-suits, cocaine, phones--anything I CAN fit in there, really."

Wow.

This is his PLAN?

..christ, he's worse than Lucas had originally thought.

Atleast he didn't say CHILD MURDERERS, because that's probably where Lucas would draw the line, honestly. That whole redemption arc for him would be flung into the trash, never to be seen again.

"Uh..nice? Sounds like a..plan." Lucas gives a thumbs up, a nervous tick as much as a sign of something akin to approval.

Old Sport nods, "Agreed. I have the GREATEST PLAN, afterall! Should work out pretty well, eh?" Old Sport nudges Lucas, to which Lucases skin physically RECOILED--

He pushed past the feeling, a shaky nod making its way through.

Hoo, boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so--i honestly had such writers block after the chapters 10-12, so i just decided to rewrite them. it's easier for me and you guys, tbh--i just couldn't write with that material, it was just not my style.
> 
> chapters will be rewritten, and eventually we'll be right back on track! only one chapter till then, so enjoy!! :)


	12. Be Mine, Valentine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport gets the job! Of course, having to sit on the phone is a little terrifying, when it's Matt on the other end.
> 
> He considers now, though, who to date for Valentine's!
> 
> ..afterall, you don't wanna be alone on Valentine's. You'll probably end up dating a rotting, orange zombie with no moral compass.

Old Sport had accepted the job.

Of course he wasn't going to let this go, honestly. Where else could he find a job around this hellhole of scuttler-ostrich mixbreed? It was nearly impossible, unless he managed to find a job for orange, zombie strippers.

Back at it again with the orange, zombie stripper references? Really?

Y E S .

It was all he had for a job, and unless he wanted to keep it up with the whole 'stealing Lucases jacket' shenanigans, then it's gonna have to be standing around with a phone for 12 hours a day, and then sleeping with a phone for 12 hours a night.

Old Sport didn't WANT to lose all appendages he had left, he barely had fingernails in itself!

So, it was his only option to bite the bullet and work with a phone.

Not be the employee of a phone, nor have a phone employee.

He had to stay AROUND the phone, the entire time, for however long it'll be until he finds a real job, besides working at a noodle shop.

Well, it couldn't be THAT bad, right?

The phone was rambling on about how they were going to start him over as a trainee tomorrow, never-ending 'uh's and 'so, yeah's. It was grating on his nerves a little, but he pinched the feeling away just as quick. He didn't want to get on the phones bad side now that he's gonna be stuck with him, 24/7.

It'd be more than awkward. It'd be pure HELL, considering the thirty eight reasons he could name off the top of his head right now.

The cold winter breeze had blown away, as spring had finally come to a upbringing in February, somehow. It'd been a full month since January, and it only now decided to kick in. It was still cold, which was what still initiated 'Mission: Steal Lucases Jacket' now and then.

Although, there was just one thing..

He was worried slightly more about V A L E N T I N E ' S , and less the cold.

Dave was his valentine, once! No homos were exchanged, neither of them wanted to be alone that day.

It's a horrible day to be alone, and without Dave?

His worst nightmare!

So, for Valentine's, he needed a STRATEGIC game plan--as well as someone to ask out. Dates were pretty scarce, around these parts..unless you wanted to date a homeless man, a doggo dressed up as a pimp, or that beyond decayed pumpkin with a smiley-face on you found in the garbage bin.

Old Sport is REALLY considering that doggo..I mean, what if he DOES have money?

Never underestimate a doggo. Number one rule of life, honestly.

There was actually a combination of a doggo AND a homeless man--but he's half-TV too, which Old Sport found a little weird.

It'd be like dating a phone, (which the man had droned on about, a three minute long topic for the entire three hours he sat there.) and that wasn't really a good valentine's date in his personal opinion.

So, he decided to leave the doggo-tv-man alone once he'd fell asleep that time, snoring away and mumbling something about phones and Dialtown.

Old Sport found himself dateless. Dating phones, TV-men, pimp doggos, homeless men and a rotting pumpkin all seemed out of the question. The real question to ask himself now was who would date a mouldy orange like him? Who would take the risk of catching his rabies?

"Uh..J-Jack? You okay there? Listen, I know that a new job and all must be stressful, but I think i-it'll be fine! Just don't, uh--screw up, or Matt might come back." Lucas paused, "Not that he'll do anything, like, y'know, fire you. He'll just.." a shiver, looking to the front door, "..stare."

Old Sport felt his brain click, or maybe it's just PTSD flashbacks to getting springlocked kicking in once more. It was most likely that, since he wasn't getting any sort of metaphorical lightbulbs.

"I'm fine, phoney. Just thinking about stuff. Lots of stuff." said Old Sport.

"Like what?" Lucas interrogated, but innocently--a phone could never withhold such a power to TRULY interrogate someone.

Old Sport blinked somehow. "Like..my..first birthday?" he gave a grin, shrugging his shoulders.

COUGH. COUGH COUGH. Horrible. COUGH.

Lucas nodded. Oblivious as ever, he thought to himself, "Oh..sounds interesting?"

Actually, his first birthday party was when he was 24, since his parents didn't want any more kids seeing his horrific face when he was younger. They ditched him once he turned 16, leaving him to find a job.

His situation actually turned out to reincarnate itself about the same, these days. Except, now, he definitely has a home--it's just 831 miles away.

He went through a punk phase when he was 15..he still has dreams of MCR coming to his house and picking him up like a princess, but they only happen every August 22nd.

Mom was the most ashamed.

..anyways, besides MCR obsession..Old Sport was just gonna end up being alone. He really didn't want to be if he HAD a choice, but there was nothing else.

The day will most DEFINITELY end with a 'no homo' if he does find someone.

..yup. No homo, amirite?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor jack lmao
> 
> also YES that doggo-tv-homeless man is directdoggo, if it wasn't obvious
> 
> praise


	13. Don't Touch (or eat) the Merchandise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport should never be allowed to work around semi-edible food--which is about 3% of the reason why Freddy's never had edible food at all.
> 
> Freddy's was pretty magical, though. Had its moments!
> 
> Eventually, he ends up falling asleep, and Lucas is tired of Old Sport's shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls read end notes after you're done reading this chapter, lol--

"J-Jack, no--"

Old Sport had shoved the entire raw biscuit into his mouth without a second thought, nor a second bite. Lucas had apparently cringed, his shoulders drawing back away from the orange man beside him, and his footsteps had done the same.

THIS WAS NORMAL, DON'T YOU JUDGE HIM PHONEY.

"Jack..you weren't supposed to EAT the biscuit, yo-you were supposed to put it into the pot.." Lucas shivered, "How did you e-even..?"

He gave nothing but a shrug, rotting hand reaching for another, taking the whole pastry down into his throat, swallowing it without mercy--the phone immediately took his wrist, stilling him. "P-please--no more." He'd said, more of a beg. A G O N Y .

Just as Old Sport thought he was gonna get some good grub. Dang.

He dropped the biscuit, to his own (brief) sorrow.

Lucas seemed relieved, or, at least as much as a phone CAN be relieved in the first place. After seeing that stunt, he doesn't think the phone will be able to sleep tonight, not even a single wink..not with the image of Old Sport shoving an entire biscuit into his mouth like, well--THAT.

Old Sport shrugged it off, and continued to roll the mouldy dough they'd managed to scrape together, for an idea Old Sport himself liked to call 'actually cooking something'.

Lucas had more expertise in the culinary arts, although, due to having to do this atleast once or twice with his time working here. Old Sport may have had the suddenly bright idea, but Lucas was the only one out of the two of them that knew how to make dumplings.

He knew how to make pizza, but definitely not dumplings. There were only a few mandatory recipes you had to learn, and pork dumplings were never really..included. But, soon, a few hours had passed--and Old Sport officially had learned how to make a pork dumpling in seven different patterns.

He'd fallen asleep at the 'Happy Birthday!' pattern, and awoke back to a 'No Glowsticks Allowed' pattern instead.

Lucas seemed to be enjoying himself, and of course, you know he H A S to ruin it by asking the poor phone an awkward question.

Old Sport gives a devilish grin, and he immediately catches himself--Dave has influenced him too much!.. "So, Luke," Old Sport began, getting a very confused look from the phone for the sudden nicknaming. "You got a Valentine's yet?"

It most definitely stopped the phone, right in his tracks. He drops the knife he was using to carve the glowstick shape down into the dumpling, soft Windows error sounds emitting from his speaker.

"Wh-why do you ask?" the phone stammers, attempting to save himself the embarrassment by avoiding the question and putting the spotlight right back onto Old Sport.

Ah, a good move--but not a good enough one to escape this.

Old Sport took his time, which wasn't too long in reality. "Just asking..Valentine's is coming up, soon." Old Sport shrugged it off, "I figure a phone like you might have a date! I mean, lots of people are into that..atleast, nowadays, they are."

Lucas picked the knife back up, taking the caution to not accidentally grab the blade in his embarrassed stupor, "I-I don't. Whatever phones actually date someone into that, they've gotta have a de-deathwish. I mean, what if they try to t-turn them in?" He manages to jumble out, looking away from Old Sport as much as he possibly could.

Sus, but ok.

Old Sport just decided to go back to watching him, after that.

Today, the sun shone down brightly onto the shop, windows casting a golden morning onto the inside, as well. Warmth enveloped the two, a marigold shade. Far contrasted from the sapphire light of winter, so of course, it was a good change for the two of them.

He could hear the hustle and bustle of customers outside..while the place wasn't too popular, it certainly had its own days of it.

It almost reminded him of Freddy's, really.

Freddy's was FAR more magical, atleast to him.

Nothing could be more magical than doing cocaine in the restroom on a Tuesday!

(This place was already pretty cool..and it'd only been a few days!

Besides the mould, decay and general disrepair..you could almost call it a real restaurant~! I mean, there's food, there's drinks, there's games, there's animatronics..

This place is a hit, too!

Balloons and light strips had found their way over the restaurant, as well as glittered party streamers. Confetti littered the ground, small children stepping over the messes--or just directly onto it. Well, since it wasn't their job, he wasn't gonna complain. It's the janitors!

On-stage, the animatronics he'd managed to salvage last minute sung like happy birds in the sunlight. Basking in the songs and acts, having found a new purpose once more.

It's a shame those are actually just dead kids..but, oh well.

Harry kept yapping on and on about tax fraud behind him, following his boss where ever he went to make sure he heard every last boring bit of it. Old Sport had started tuning it out a while ago, but Harry just kept talking. Damn, this might be the first time he regrets committing a crime!

Arcade games resonated throughout it all, most likely a few teenagers looking to forget their horrible existence. The constant beep-boops and Harry's talking got on his nerves, just a little.

The blinds to the window had been lifted, and through the glass panes the sunshine had chosen to illuminate the restaurant inside--and he only stopped there, the click of his dress shoes against the marble tiles pausing. Harry had apparently been silenced, increasing worry that he'd just broken his boss.

He gazed down upon the olive hue that speckled the front yard of his restaurant, along with the raindrops that slid down the shiny blades of greenery. It had rained recently, hadn't it?

The tree outside blew in the strong, spring winds.

Was this success?

Had he really made it this far?

Harry was ready to have to carry his boss to the emergency room, or moreso DRAG him, but then..

Old Sport smiled.

Eyes shut, and the only light he could see was the blinding rays of the sun making it's way through to catch in the white pupil of his eye.

Harry started panicking from behind, but all Old Sport could think was how he'd done it.

He'd succeeded..

for once in his life.)

Old Sport hadn't realized the hand shaking his shoulder until he snapped out of his daze, getting a worried look from the phone.

"J-Jack, are you..okay?" asked Lucas, still holding onto Old Sport's shoulder, standing from behind.

Old Sport nodded,

"Yeah, I'm good."

and then he yawned.

"Okay, nevermind," Old Sport said, beginning to stretch, "I'm gonna go take a nap for now. See ya' in a minute, Lucas."

Lucas could've rolled his eyes, if he had any.

Did he just forget they had TRAINING together?

Well, Old Sport was already stalking off to the counter, and there was nothing that Lucas could say to stop him. He'd learned the basics, so Lucas supposed he could go for now.

Work starts tomorrow..

Jeez, talk about short attention span, Lucas thought to himself, going back to work onto kneading the dough sitting on the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> valentine's is soon to come, boyos..
> 
> so, who should jack a' boy go for? i'm genuinely confused on who y'all want together--i'll even settle for matt if that's what you fellas want!! ily guys❤💕❤
> 
> sorry for short chapter, trying to get this out fast!!


	14. Valentine, Valentine..you will be mine. *GONE WRONG, GONE SEXUAL, SUMMONED CTHULHU, SUMMONED DAVE*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport helps Lucas set up for the day!
> 
> They talk of dumplings, hand holding, the like!
> 
> But someone new is in town, and how will that affect Old Sport and Lucases blossoming relationship? Will it make, or break them?

Old Sport wakes up!

How unfortunate.

The small snuffs of dust that had built up on his back were easily brushed away by a slow, groggy hand. Blinking once, then twice, he examined his current surroundings.

Yup. Same old, same old!

Well, actually kind of more so..newish!

Considering he wasn't sleeping in ashes, snow, or pure dirt, it seems as if he was now getting more used to the dustier side of life. Which, of course in his dirty hobo mind, meant that he was expanding his horizons! Or broadening them! Whichever term it was, it just meant he was growing up!

Lucas was still sleeping in the corner a few feet away from him, rigid as a stick. It seems he might not be up for a while, with how his phone head is so deeply embedded into his pillow..so he must wonder how early he'd woken up before the other in question.

Looking to the wall above him, turning over to get a better glance from his angle, it read exactly 7 on the dot.

This is when they'd usually start opening, at Fazbear's.

His visits to even his own restaurant were scarce, at times, but he always managed to swing by right on time before they went bankrupt, discussing future business plans and taxes of the like. The usual jam. It was nice, sure.

Rolling out from bed, or, more like the sleeping bag he set atop the freezer box, he strolled out from the doorway. It'd be nice to get a snack or two, and since everything was in order as it should be, since Lucas took it upon himself to handle the clean-up after closing time yesterday, that should be easy!

Lucas was such a hard worker..it was almost admirable..! (for a phone.)

Well, instead of snacks he'd actually better start boiling some water, since it was opening time soon.

Lucas had said yesterday during closing time how he probably should, everyday, set up shop for him if he's ever sleeping while Old Sport isn't. That pertains to now, too! Hell, he'd even handed him a pamphlet on how to do it, knowing that if he left Old Sport to try and figure it out on his own, well-

Yet, Old Sport doesn't even know why he left him to do it, even WITH a pamphlet. Old Sport doesn't cause disaster. He IS the disaster..oh, well! Sometimes disaster just can't be helped. Or prevented. OR stopped.

Jeez-

Reading along with the pamphlet, he followed the instructions as neatly as one could with this much devilish intent resting in their soul. It seemed simple enough, boiling some water, adding a bit of salt, it didn't go too badly..all things considered, including most scenarios in his head where his hand could've lit on fire if he put it an inch closer to that fire.

The fire crackled under the steel pots, miniature water bubbles frothing at the sides of their walls.

It looks like that was about it..now all he had to do was wait for Lucas to wake up so he could help him make dumplings!

That definitely took a good minute, and a few other minutes of stirring the pots so they didn't overflow, but sure enough, Lucas did arise from his previous slumber. A phoney grunt, some shuffling, and in came Lucas in all of his morning mug glory! Even though, he doesn't even have a mug to begin with.

"J-Jack? You actually set up everything, wi-without explosions?" Lucas noticed the faint gurgling sound coming from the other side of the room, looking to Old Sport, and then the pots.

Old Sport nods, "Affirmative, phoney! I'm a real connoisseur of the pots now, ya' feel me?" he gave a short grin, patting the side of the vessel, letting a small 'ouch' escape past his lips at the short, boiling contact shaping with his tangerine palms. Lucas looked surprised, for as much as a phone could look surprised at all.

"W-wow..I guess so, huh? Well--uhm-" Lucas fiddles with his hands for a moment, "Let's get to work, then?"

Old Sport gives him a thumbs up, taking hold of a ladle nearby, waiting while Lucas went to the freezer to get some more dumplings. He took to the first pot he'd set up from earlier, giving it a stir before Lucas tossed in a few dumplings.

Although, during that moment, Lucas got a little too close.

Their hands collide, for a brief moment. Apricot hands met blushed, porcelain ones, and all of a sudden, those same frail hands flinched, and reeled as if they'd been burnt.

A scorching heat had flushed across the phones plastic skin, and Old Sport was the only one left confused when Lucas had fallen back so hard he dropped a precious, sacred dumpling down to the floor to rot. A raised brow was all it took for Lucas to look away in shame. "Sorry, Jack-"

"For what? The dumpling?" Old Sport reached down, "No worries. Free snack."

Lucas sat, awestruck, as the other only replied with a monch from the frozen treat. He looked down at his own hand, but not with a shudder. Only a faint blush, spread across his phoney features, trying desperately not to look at the other in fear of showing his face ever again after committing such a intimate gesture, e-even if it was on accident!

Wait, since when did touching hands become intimate to him, Lucas pondered-

Wh-what is going on with him?!

Old Sport only stared at him more intensely as time went on, as curiosity will always kill the cat. "So..what's up with you, Lucas? You're jumpy! Not to say phones aren't usually like that, buuttt," He took another bite, "You're a real scaredy-cat! I mean, more than you were before!"

"It-it's nothing, really." Lucas took a dumpling in hand, plopping it straight into the pot, "Listen, we should pr-probably focus on work some more, r-right?"

"..Right." Old Sport gave him a weird look, but shrugged it off by finishing his dumpling, stiff bites and all, before mass-chucking dumplings into the pot to boil faster. Lucas trying to maintain his distance a little more respectively by now, he stood solemnly a foot away now, just out of arms reach, bending over the counter, taking some from the bag, then bending over again.

Lucas felt worse in the silence, even if he had recommended the idea. He was flustered, okay?

"S-so..if you're a connoisseur of the pots now, can you start doing this everyday..?" Lucas never turned to face him, face still slightly sweltering from earlier events.

"Hm. If you give me a raise, sure!" Old Sport happily tossed in another dumpling, seeming to get more into the groove of it as time went on. He WAS against this job at first, but now that he's getting paid at least enough to buy a goldfish or two, AND it's easy work? It's perfect!

"I can't do that..I'm not your boss." Lucas replied, shivering at the mould he spotted on a former dumpling.

Old Sport looked a little stunned. "Oh, dang. I forgot you're just a phone employee. Not a phone mana-"

"N O R A I S E S-"

"HWAH-" Old Sport startled, nearly jumping out from his skin at the sound of that same, virginic voice behind him. How many times had this virgin done this to him before?! Oh, well, not the time--different questions arise!

Crawling back into his own flesh, as well as Lucas, before he finally confronted the ultimate virgin, Matt, who also happens to be his manager now, with a rather stern look on his face. "No raises, employee. That is, if you hadn't heard me the first time." He huffed, all so serious.

"Bu-but why? Don't you remember that one time back at Fazbear's where I gave you that super sick raise-"

"That was the bubonic plague, not cash money, I'm afraid, scary orange man."

"DAMNIT!"

Matt sighed, "But, that's not entirely the reason I'm not giving you a raise. I did benefit from having a following of vermin, and I did look cool in that plague doctor mask."

"Wait, th-then why is it?" Old Sport pleaded, practically begging for an answer, oh please, all might Fredbear, bless him on this day-

"We have a new employee, obviously."

...

..What?


	15. Employee Extravaganza!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Old Sport, working..again!
> 
> The new employee might need some help,
> 
> and what a frisky name he's got!

"New..employee?" Old Sport parroted, "How on doggo's green earth did you get a new employee, just after I joined?"

Matt gave that classic, Virgin™ smile. It actually seemed to be stuck permanently on the mans face, considering how long he's seen that same damn smile. "It's none of your business. Let's just say..this employee is desperate. For money, just like I'm desperate for underpaid manual labor. It p l e a s e s me."

"I-in what way..?" Lucas felt a tremor of unease quiver down his spine, "Wait, n-no, don't answer that."

"..well, anyway. When are they comin'?" Old Sport brushed it off, rather easy compared to what one might expect. It's been a long while since he's worked with Matt, but that doesn't mean he's not even a little used to his virginic doings.

(He's downright T E R R I F I E D , on the inside. Don't try accusing him either, he'll deny it all.)

"Sometime around this evening." Matt reached into his pocket, fishing out a slip of paper, but pausing once he read it over. "..I forgot their name, and I didn't even write it down. Oh, well." Shoving it back into his pocket, where only the worst of objects go. "Just improvise. Keep in mind, they're a little..well, I shouldn't tell you. It'll be a s u r p r i s e."

Old Sport tilts his head a little, confused. "..What? Why not just tell us? I mean, I'm all up for chaos, of course! But, if I know their name, maybe I can scare the living daylights out of em' by popping up behind them and screaming their name at them-"

"Don't do that, or you're fired. On the spot. We need more employees, and I only just barely got this one on board with us, with some bribery, of course." Matt lectured, shoving his hands back into his pockets. Looked even more of a virgin with that pose, Old Sport grimaced. Was it even possible?

"Well--what are they? I mean li-like-" Lucas was playing with his thumbs again, rotary darting from Old Sport, to Matt, and then to the floor. "Are they a janitor, or a cook, o-or..?"

Old Sport pipes up with a suggestion of his own, "All three?"

Matt shrugs. "Whatever I can bribe them to do..so all three, then."

"A-ah.." Lucas looks a little disappointed, somehow. Old Sport takes note of this, watching his shoulders slump as if he'd just been let go. He can only wonder what was running through the others head at the time, but unfortunately, Old Sport isn't a psychic, unless you count the voices in his head before he goes to bed at night.

Well, that's that, then.

"So..you going now? We've got jobs to do!" Old Sport grabbed his ladle again, turning back to the pot. It seems the dumplings he'd put in there earlier had burnt whilst he was chatting it up with these two fucking weirdos. Dang.

Oh, well. Nothing goes to waste! Scooping them out from the metal jug, he strained them through the ladle, topping them into a ramen bowl. Matt looked to have taken the hint, obviously, and walked out from the room before he could curse them with any sort of virginic curse.

Lucas looked more duller, than before, but he took to it swiftly, grabbing his ladle as well. Old Sport scooped, strained, got flashbacks to World War Fazbear, then dumped into a bowl. Lucas followed, except for the third instruction.

"So, Lucas! What do you think of the new fella?" Old Sport peeked back to Lucas, who seemed surprised at the sudden chattiness. "Or gal! It depends, really!"

"We-well, uhm, we haven't really..met them yet? I'm not sure what to think when we ha-haven't even shook hands."

Old Sport concurred. "True. I guess we can't really think anything when we haven't seen em' eye-to-eye." Old Sport paused, "Oh--well, for you, it's eye-to-rotary. Or maybe they're a phone too? Rotary-to-rotary!" a smile quirks upon his face, "Man, imagine it's another phone! If so, maybe you two can date? Only freaks date phones if they're not one themselves, so you two'd be perfect!"

Ouch. Dick move, Old Sport.

Lucas doesn't show it, but inside..that really hurt. He nods, looking away, trying not to tremble. Fumbling with a spare dumpling on hand, he decides to put it in the pot anyways. Seems that they're finished with dumplings, so now they can move onto the noodles.

Old Sport brushes it off as him being excited over the new phone, although it's pretty unlikely that it even IS a phone guy. Or gal, he doesn't know what Lucas is into, really. He never asked, because at the end of the day, they're two freaks at a noodle shop. Why even ask? It wouldn't make a difference.

"P-pass me the noodles, please."

Snatching the noodles from the other side of the counter, they boiled in the vessel of D U M P L I N G .

But, soon enough, they were handing out bowls, and even sooner did the day end.

Lucas was wiping off another bowl spill from the floor with the mop, tossing it into the bucket every now and then to refresh the water, even a little. Old Sport on the other hand was washing out dishes, bubbles buoyant as ever, suspending through the air and even passing by Old Sport a few other times.

Water gushed out from the sink, spilling waterfalls to the rustic, marble floor. The sunlight touching off from the window cast a hazy, yet shiny spell onto the drying rack of dishes, lighting the bubbles rather nicely.

Glossy countertops and polished floors, it was a rarity for Fazbear's back then. He doesn't remember ever hiring a janitor, though, so of course it was probably dirtier than a fox stripclub, or at least somewhat close to it. It doesn't taint the memories of it, no. It doesn't matter how dirty it was..Fazbear's was almost a home, for him.

Nostalgia was getting to be an everyday occurrence, for him. It didn't bother him any, just made him feel..gloomy?

Old Sport let his mind wander, at some point, but let himself come back to reality, just as easy. Lucas was asking him a question!

"Uh--could you repeat that?" Old Sport turned to Lucas. Lucas nods in return. "We-well, as I was saying, I was gonna ask if you'd seen the new employee around?" Lucas surveyed the door, briskly. "I haven't even caught a glimpse of him, all evening. Do you think he's coming at all?"

Old Sport looked back to the door as well, and, nope. No new employee. It's not like he could've gotten fired before he came here, and he couldn't have just died. He stood sane in the presence of M A T T , and no regular ol' normie could do that!

"Maybe they quit?" Old Sport theories, "Or just couldn't come! Maybe their pet goldfish died, or their grandma!"

"J-Jack, that's dark.." Lucas huffs, "I think he probably quit..h-he probably came in at some point, he might've just looked like an ordinary customer, and once he saw the place, he decided no bribery was good enough for any of this."

Old Sport rolled his eyes, "I said it once, I'll say it again! He was with MATT. Nothing in this place compares to how horrible, or disgusting, or terrifying Matt is! Nothing, phoney!" Old Sport scrubs harder at a dish, stained red with siracha sauce. "Matt said it himself! He's coming round' evening, a virgin never lies!"

"A-are you so sure about that-"

"He's right, even if he's a fucking orange."

"G-GAH-" Lucas cries, recoiling forwards on accident, landing into Old Sport's arms. So anime, so romantic--it makes me wanna gag!

Old Sport jumps for joy, though, more-so than out of fear. "Ah! If it isn't the man of the hour! Welcome!" Old Sport throws off Lucas, and while he reaches to take the others hand, the supposed other swats it away just as quickly. "Don't touch me." He retorts, a disgusted glare crossing his face at the mere sight of Old Sport.

"Aw, c'mon! It's your first day! Or, well, first night! Kinda!" Old Sport is giddier than usual, but that's leaving Lucas to brush himself off, and get up to introduce the new guy. He can't believe he just shoved him..

"Don't care, I couldn't even be bothered to, either-"

"What's your name? Matt never told us, said he wanted to leave it as a surprise."

"Look at my fucking nametag."

And, as it was, it looks like he did have a nametag!

Practically lasering his eyes towards it, it read..

< Gabriel <

"Gabriel! What a name!" Old Sport cheered, rather estatic for someone, who, yet again, hated this job with a passion before. He doesn't know what it is, but he thinks it's because of his successful day at work today that's made him so thrilled.

A new day, a new blaze!


	16. Another day, another dime, that's why I'm Kinky on Company Time!™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Sport struts around the shop like it's a 90's diner, Lucas probably enjoys watching, Gabriel is just sick of their shit already..
> 
> Although, when Gabriel suggests Old Sport just go home if he really wanted to, Lucas and Gabriel get heated!
> 
> Old Sport gets k i n k y .

Today was the day!

Gabriel had officially started working with them as of yesterday, yes, but today is the day where he actually has to do his job!

Old Sport bounded around the shop, noodle bowls balanced on both hands, even one having ended up teetering on his head from side-to-side, Lucas and Gabriel hard at work in the kitchen. Lucas came out sometimes, holding certain spices, and/or add-ons to certain customers orders.

Gabriel would moodily call from the kitchen for Old Sport whenever an order got finished, handing him the piping-hot bowl, along with a few spice packets just so Lucas wouldn't have to come outside and give it to them himself.

"Hey, twat. I got an order for you!" He'd call through the window, sticking his head through and reaching the serving just enough to hand it to the other. Old Sport would nod, strutting along to that specific table in question. Not before nearly tripping on his own feet, catching the bowl back into safety, at the cost of his chin making a weird crack once he hit the floor.

The patron would thank him, grateful, before taking their chopsticks in-between their fingers, and eating away at their meal.

Man! Who knew noodle-shop working could be so hard? He'd broken into a sweat at least 7 times before the day had ended! Or was it just a continuous sweat, with occasional breaks?

..besides that, it seems the day would go by pretty quickly with an extra helping hand around! If you can't guess, that extra helping hand isn't the rat scurrying in the corner, running in circles to try and eat its own tail, it's Gabriel! Although, that rat's gotta be doing something for this restaurant, right?

Nope..just keeping customers away.

"T-today's almost over..then I can finally go home.." Lucas sighed, but it wasn't one of any particular ill meaning. Although, now he definitely had to wonder.

"You have a house now? But--just yesterday you were sleeping on the floor? What changed?" Old Sport interrogated.

Not out of spite! Just plain curiosity, really.

"I-I bought a small dorm yesterday, the renter says I can stay for however long I like si-since I paid for it, just to not do anything scandalous." Lucas put away a dish he was rinsing off onto the drying rack, balancing between bowls and silverware. Gabriel looked to Old Sport, "I kinda guessed you two didn't have a house from the looks of it, but I guess I was a little wrong. About him, anyways. Was right about you."

Old Sport shrugged, "Eh. I'm used to the shop, more, anyways! I don't think I'll ever live anywhere specific unless I move back up to Colorado, so I guess I'm living the nomad life until then."

"..Colorado? Why Colorado? It's just a bunch of fucking mountains." Gabriel scoffed, "What a waste of time."

He wasn't offended, per sé, a little peeved at best. Old Sport continued, "Because! I had a brother up in Colorado, he was a really sweet fella. He died wayyy back then, but I paid off his house, so I think I can still go back. That is, if they haven't mowed it down."

Gabriel seemed pretty unimpressed at every turn, not moving an inch until he heard he had money at all before. Enough money to pay off a house, that was certainly a lot for a zombie like him! Now, he was a little interested. What kind of job did he have before to make that much money, and how did he lose it all, just like that..?

"Huh. Still, why not just hitchhike? Lots fucking easier than just sitting like a duck. Might take some time, sure, but at least you won't be waiting around for them to tip off your house." Gabriel reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of smokes, paired with a lighter.

Old Sport looked puzzled, now. Maybe that was the right way, he thought to himself, watching the blaze siphon from his matchlet.

Lucas was definitely concerned, now, not waiting a second to voice his opinion before Old Sport got any ideas to leave. "He-hey, maybe that's not the..best way? I-I mean, well, that's a really long walk for one person. Wouldn't he fall apart or something before then?" Lucas had definitely fumbled with his words, but you really couldn't blame him. This was serious!

"Well, sure. But who fucking cares? He already looks enough like a zombie, so he might fall apart, but won't he just put himself back together?" He blows a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, not too happy with the other challenging his advice. "And for that matter, he's a walking fucking force of nature. I saw him break his jaw earlier, hell, I HEARD it, and he didn't even flinch. He got back up, served his order to a patron, and walked off."

Lucas felt like his head was going to pop off if he got any more heated, doesn't this man have a lick of common sense?!

"If h-he's such a force of nature, how many more times until he does get hurt? It won't take much for it to become t-too much to piece back together!" Lucas retorts, and it clearly didn't leave Gabriel too happy.

Like bulls butting their heads against one-another, Gabriel got closer to Lucas, puffing a little. "Are you trying to fuck with me? He's a force of nature, what DON'T you understand? If he can, he will."

"A-aren't you overestimating him?! He's still one man! He's not gonna-"

Old Sport breached the argument before it could continue any further by stepping forward, in-between the two. "Hey, this isn't how fellow employees should act, ya' know! Plus, you two are so heated over MY decision! MY life!"

He shoved the two together, mingling their limbs together, and Lucas had never felt such a flush of heat come to his face. He couldn't tell if it was from anger, or embarrassment. He tried to claw himself from the zombies grip, but he only held tighter. Oh, good golly-

"Hug it out, you two!" he said, and Gabriel was desperate at this point, writhing in the grip, even trying to reach up and twist Old Sport's wrist, but to no avail.

"Ge-get him the fuck off! He's scalding my fucking face, you FUCKING PSYCHO-" Gabriel shouts, practically gritting his teeth, ready to bite the other if necessary. But, Old Sport separates the two before the situation could escalate any worse than it already had. Gabriel stumbled away, just as well as Lucas could, falling straight to the floor and holding his phoney head.

Old Sport grins, "See? Now you two aren't fighting! I saved the aaCK-"

Gabriel had put Old Sport into a chokehold, murmuring curses under his breath to go along with it, "Fucking die, you orange monstrosity-"

Obviously, Lucas flipped, because while he was pretty upset with him for making him HUG that-that--

Ugh, he couldn't even say it.

He took hold of Gabriel, pulling on his apron, even going as far to pull on his cinnamon-brown locks, but not even pulling on the mans hair seemed to work. He guesses it must be the adrenaline rush from having his face put to a straight 118 degrees for longer than a few seconds, but now he won't even respond to the pain.

"G-get off! Get off!" Lucas hollered, putting all his phoney strength into pulling him off.

"E M P L O Y E E S ."

Lucas, Old Sport, and even Gabriel, who still held Old Sport in his clutches, turned to the voice, and there stood Matt, arms crossed like an angry middle school teacher, who had only left the classroom for 5 minutes to come back to WW3.

"No killing each other, ESPECIALLY not on MY property. You should know better." He points to the exit, "Go home. N o w ."

Gabriel latched off of Old Sport, who wheezed so hard he choked, clawing at his throat to clear his airways, for even a second. Lucas immediately rushed to Old Sport, but looked back to Matt.

"I'll take care of him, employee. Go home, before I do something you won't like." Matt reached into his pocket, but Lucas was already darting off, followed by Gabriel. They seemed to walk entirely different directions, Old Sport noticed as he watched them run off, still hazy from the strangling he'd just been given.

Blinking through heavy tears, Matt sighed at the sorry state of the man.

"You can stay. Don't invite those two over, though, or I'll use i t ."

Old Sport nods, watching Matt walk away from him, and then leaving through the exit just the same. So much for taking care of him, Old Sport thought bitterly. But, then he remembers how much he REALLY didn't like even being in the same room as Matt, and he can only shrug to himself.

It's just another day, in his exciting, tangerine life!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all!! another chapter!
> 
> i have a serious question for y'all-
> 
> should i open an askblog once i get more characters, or do it now? or open one at all? i've always loved askblogs, and now i realize i HAVE a story, i AM writing it, and it has characters people like! what do y'all think?
> 
> anyways, old sport pog


End file.
